by Sue Fortin
I hate writing the last sentence, but I am somehow managing to keep myself divorced from the emotion attached to the reality. I’ll deal with it later. For now, my drive is fuelled by the need to protect my family.
Instead I focus on who Martha could be working with. If it’s not her I’m to be scared of, then who is it? It can’t be anyone I know. I mean, why would they do this to me? Who hates both Mum and me enough to do this?
I go around in circles, the same questions repeating themselves over and over again, and each time I have no answers. What I need is for Martha to confess. She needs to talk. I can’t work this out on my own.
When the plane touches down at Heathrow I’m relieved that the flight is finally over. Once through passport control and customs, I head for the exit and, sitting on a stone bench, try once more to contact home.
It’s seven in the morning and the house should be wide awake preparing for the day ahead but, when I try to call no one picks up, it doesn’t even go to answerphone.
I try Luke’s phone. I hear the call connect and can hear voices in the background for a second before there is a rustling and the noise is muffled.
‘Luke? Luke! Are you there? Can you hear me?’ I want to cry. The line goes dead and I slam my phone down hard on the concrete seat. Instantly there is the unmistakable sound of the screen cracking. ‘Shit!’ I inspect the damage. There’s a big crack from one corner, stretching out almost to the opposite corner, and I’ve dented the edge of the casing. Fortunately, it still appears to be working.
The person sitting on one of the seats opposite gives me a ‘You didn’t want to do that’ sort of look. I grab my rucksack and head for the car park, where I left my BMW a few days ago.
As I get inside the car and throw my rucksack onto the passenger seat, my phone bleeps as a text message comes in. I’m grateful I didn’t smash the phone down any harder. Expecting it to be Luke, I’m surprised to see it’s come through as a number I don’t recognise and one that’s obviously not in my contacts. I open the message and a picture of Hannah appears on the screen. It’s taken from a distance, through the gates of the Old Vicarage. She’s just coming out of the front door, dressed in her school uniform, holding Luke’s hand, heading towards the carport.
Another message comes through from the same number as before.
Don’t do anything stupid. Wouldn’t want anyone to have an accident, would you?
A river of ice-cold fear runs through my veins. I fumble with the phone, but somehow manage to hit the call function. The unknown number rings only once. There is silence.
‘Who is this?’ I demand, my voice shaking. ‘Who are you?’
There’s a muffled sound of laughter. I can’t hear it clearly and there’s no way of telling if it’s male or female.
‘Leave my family alone! Don’t you fucking touch them! Do you hear me? Leave. Them. Alone!’ I’m aware with each word I say I’m becoming more and more hysterical. I can’t help it. It takes another moment before I realise the line is dead. And then, almost immediately, another text message comes through.
I’m being DEADLY serious. Don’t involve the police either. You’ll regret it if you do.
I grapple with the door handle and hang my head outside of the car. I think I’m going to be sick but I retch instead and only bile comes. I spit it out onto the tarmac, taking a moment to allow the blood to rush to my head and bat away the wave of dizziness. I sit up and look at my phone again.
My hands are shaking as I scroll back through the messages. I want to have imagined it all, but I haven’t. It’s there in front of me. I stop at the picture of Hannah and Luke, zooming in on the detail. I can’t tell when this was taken. It could be any morning. There’s nothing in the picture to give any indication if this is today, yesterday or even sometime last week.
I throw the phone onto the seat and shove the keys in the ignition. The engine roars as, heavy-footed, I speed out of the car park, heading for Little Dray. It’s going to take a good hour to get there, but if I put my foot down I should be able to make it before the school run.
Fortunately, I’m going in the other direction to most of the rush-hour traffic and I miss the bulk of it as I hammer down the A23 towards home. Soon the countryside I pass slips into the familiar landscape of open fields and undulating hills that I associate with Sussex. I check my watch as the ‘Welcome to Little Dray’ signpost comes into sight. I ignore the ‘please drive carefully through our village’ part. I swing off to the left, taking the lane that leads to the house. The hedges smudge into various shades of green as I push the accelerator further down. I check the clock on the dash. It’s eight twenty-three. In two minutes’ time, Luke will be leaving with Hannah. I press even harder on the accelerator and almost over-cook it on the next bend, the back end of the BMW giving a little step-out. I manage to correct it, avoid skidding off into the ditch and stamp on the brakes, but in doing so also manage to stall the engine.
‘Come on!’ I shout at the car as I twist the key in the ignition. It starts straight away and, with no thought to anything around me, I rev the engine and wheel-spin away, dust and dirt kicking up behind me from the rear wheels.
I’m nearly there, the flint wall that surrounds the grounds to the house is in sight. I’m vaguely aware of a dark saloon car parked on the side of the verge and at the last minute I swerve to miss it. I hear a crack and as I glance to my left, I see my near-side wing mirror hanging off. I don’t care.
I can see the gates and I swing the car round like some sort of stunt man, as miraculously, I slip through without making contact with the flint piers.
I don’t see her.
One minute the driveway is clear, the next she has launched herself in front of me. I slam on the brakes so hard I’m practically standing on them. I make eye contact. For a fraction of a second I think she’s standing there just waiting for me to hit her, but then I see she’s moving. Her arms are outstretched. She’s trying to move something out of my way. She looks at me and I see my own abject fear reflected straight back at me. Time stands still until I realise what, or rather who, she is trying to move from the path of the tonne of metal bearing down on them.
I throw the steering wheel to the left to try to avoid them.
Somewhere, someone has screamed. I don’t know where or who. Or maybe we all screamed, but then the God-awful thud of impact comes, all other sound being sucked up. Her head makes contact with the windscreen and the glass both splinters out like a spider’s web and bulges in towards me at the same time. Another thud. This time the roof.
The car skids, but the speed I’m travelling cannot be countered by the brakes. It hits one of the rocks dotted along the edge of the grass island, the steering wheel is snatched from my grasp and all of a sudden I feel a weightlessness as the car is briefly airborne before flipping onto its side and colliding with a tree, which bounces the vehicle back onto its wheels. The airbag has deployed at some point and my face is cushioned before I’m jolted backwards and the side of my head hits the off-side window.
I’m vaguely aware of screaming and shouting. Voices that are familiar but sound so far away, as if they’re calling and yelling from a great distance. I can see figures running towards me. I try to move but I’m trapped by some sort of strap. I can’t work out what it is. I’m looking down a black tunnel, which is closing in around me.
‘Clare! Clare!’
The tunnel pulses away. I look to the side and I see Luke yanking at the driver’s door. ‘It’s okay, Babe. We’re going to get you out of here.’
Before the door comes open, something distracts him and he looks across the driveway. It’s then I hear him roar with pain. He flees from my sight. I hear more shouting but I can’t make out what they are saying. The volume and clarity of their voices throbbing in and out.
Then Leonard is next to me. He’s talking. His voice is stern. His face is grim. He’s tapping my face. He sounds drunk, his words sound slurred. My brain can’t understand what he’
s saying. My vision is blurry and I squint my eyes. I focus hard on his voice and his words become clearer.
‘Clare. Unfasten your seat belt. Your seat belt, Clare. Unfasten it.’
He’s jabbing inside the car and I move my hand to the side of my seat. I find the buckle and, on the second attempt, I hear a click and the pressure across my stomach and shoulder is released as I slump to one side. The black tunnel is closing around me again. His voice becomes distant. I think I can hear Luke’s voice too.
I fight the overwhelming sensation of tiredness. I manage to open my eyes again and see Leonard’s concerned face. He’s frowning and speaking in such a low voice, I can barely hear him. His words sound harsh, but I can’t make them out. Something like: What have you done?… Stupid … Told you. None of it makes sense.
My head rolls to the side and through half-closed eyes I see steam spiralling up from the bonnet of my car.
I look at Leonard and try to speak but I can’t form the words properly. ‘Mar,’ I gasp. It hurts to breathe. I try again. ‘Marth …’
‘Shh, don’t speak. Say nothing.’ This time Leonard’s voice is clear and it sends a new wave of fear through me.
I hear a child crying. My maternal instinct kicks in, the one that can quell all the chaos around me, dampen all other thoughts and feelings, both physical and mental and zoom in on that one sound. I hear it distinctly. I know instantly it’s Chloe. I hear her, but I can’t see her.
‘Shit.’ Leonard jumps up and disappears towards the sound of Chloe. The impact of the car against the tree has left the car at a ninety-degree angle to the drive and now my view is no longer obstructed by Leonard. I can see clearly the horror before me. My brain prioritising what needs my attention the most.
Lying perfectly still, a red stain of blood across her forehead, is Hannah. Luke is kneeling over her. He’s yanking off his navy jumper, the one Mum bought him for his birthday, a V-neck from M&S, and covering her little body with it. He’s speaking. I can see his mouth moving as he leans over our daughter, but I can’t hear any words. All I can hear is me.
‘Nooooooo! Please God, no!’
I’m not sure how many ambulances arrive at the house or how many police cars. I’m just aware of the sound of sirens, the wheels scrunching on the gravel drive, radios buzzing and crackling, broken and fractured noises of people talking in firm, professional voices and then soft tones. I ask about Hannah constantly, but I’m told they are attending to her now, that I’m not to worry and that they need to get me to hospital. Then there’s the sound of rotor blades and a flurry of activity out of the gateway. I don’t know who is airlifted. It isn’t me.
They place three orange padded blocks around my head and a strap across my forehead. I’m lifted by several pairs of hands onto an orange stretcher, the straps across my body pulled so tight it’s impossible to move. I think there may be a drip in my arm. I can’t feel anything, but I can see a bag of fluid hanging up on a clip next to me. I’m asked questions that I don’t think I know the answers to.
At some point, Leonard has come back to my side.
‘Chloe?’ I ask, as the stretcher is lifted.
‘She’s okay. Your mum is taking her to Pippa’s,’ he says. Then he lowers his mouth to my ear. ‘Don’t say anything to anyone. Don’t answer any questions until I’ve spoken with you first.’
I don’t have time to ask why, before the stretcher is slid into the back of the ambulance. I close my eyes and the ambulance doors are slammed closed and we begin our journey to Brighton hospital. I’m slightly comforted by the thought that Pippa has taken Chloe. I don’t know what this means about our relationship, but at least I know Chloe will be looked after well. I think of Daisy’s accident. Pippa thought her daughter would be looked after well too. She thought I was caring for her. How could I be so stupid as to forget to pick the girls up? She’s right. I am responsible for what happened, just like I’m responsible for what has happened now.
My head continues to throb and I feel the pull of fatigue. I think of Hannah and try to ask once again what’s happened to her, but I’m met with the usual side-step of an answer.
We hit a pothole in the road and the jolt makes me cry out in pain. My left arm is killing me. I can hear myself groaning.
‘Where’s the pain coming from, Clare?’ asks the paramedic, who is sitting in the back of the ambulance with me. ‘Is it your arm?’
I give a grunt. ‘Okay, what I’m going to do, Clare, is give you some more painkiller. Some more morphine. Are you okay with that?’
I give another grunt. Her voice is drifting away from me and I don’t think I can fight this tiredness any longer. I just want to go to sleep. And then I think of Hannah. I’m awake again.
‘Hannah, where’s Hannah? Where’s my daughter?’ I become more and more agitated with every word and every second that passes. I try to move, but I can’t. The paramedic tells me to stay calm. Calm! How the hell can I stay calm when I don’t know what has happened to my daughter? I scream her name as I’m swamped by dark thoughts and images of her lying motionless on the gravel driveway. And then the blackness comes and takes me away.
Chapter 24
I think the medical staff must have given me a sedative. When I wake, it’s dark outside and the room is lit by a small amber glow of a night light. There is the stillness of night in the air. The atmosphere you only get in the dead of the night, when most people are asleep. This time there are no footsteps making their way up and down the corridor, no doors swishing open, no muted bump as the doors close against the architrave and no indistinct conversations.
I sense I’m not alone, though, and turn my head to the right. Luke is sitting in the high-backed hospital chair. He has a blanket pulled up around his shoulders, tucked under his chin, and his head has lolled forwards onto his chest.
Such conflicting emotions rush over me. I want to reach out and have him hold me, but at the same time I want to slap his stubbly face and ask him why he doesn’t believe me.
Luke stirs and his eyes open. He sits upright when our gazes meet. ‘Clare, hiya, Babe.’ He frees his arm from the constraints of the blanket and reaches out to me, squeezing my hand. ‘It’s the middle of the night. Try to go back to sleep. You need to rest.’
‘Hannah. How is Hannah?’ I don’t care about myself and what my body needs. My mind needs to know if my daughter is okay.
‘She’s fine. She’s on the paediatric ward,’ he says.
‘The ward?’ He definitely said ward and not ICU.
‘She has a few cuts and bruises and she banged her head. They’re just keeping her in overnight for observation,’ he continues. ‘She’s absolutely fine besides that.’
‘Nothing broken? No life-threatening injuries?’
‘No. None of those. As I say, a few bumps and bruises.’
‘Oh, thank God for that.’ A sob of relief fills my throat. I swallow, but can’t contain it. I let it out and allow myself the indulgence of tears. ‘I thought I’d killed her. No one would tell me anything. And then the police wanting to speak to me …’ The snot and tears have merged into one and Luke takes a wad of tissues from the battered box on the bedside cabinet, pushing some into my hand and wiping my face with the others.
‘Routine questions,’ he says. And then he looks at me as if he’s deciding whether to tell me something. I recognise that look.
‘What?’
‘Alice isn’t so good,’ he says, he dips his gaze for a moment. ‘She’s in ICU. Punctured lung. Several broken bones and a serious head injury. Your mum is with her.’
‘Shit.’ I’m ashamed by my first thought, that I might not be able to question her about what happened in America, but then I remind myself of what I found out and the shame lifts.
‘She’s not Alice,’ I say. Luke frowns and looks confused. ‘That’s not my sister in ICU.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘That woman who’s been pretending to be Alice is actually Alice’s frien
d, Martha Munroe.’
‘Honestly, Clare, you must have taken a bigger bang to the head than I thought.’
‘I know it sounds bizarre, but I’m nearly one hundred per cent certain.’ He gives me an old-fashioned look that clearly says he doubts it very much. ‘Where’s my bag?’
Luke shrugs. ‘I don’t know. Still in the car, I expect.’
‘Bring it. I need my bag. When you go home later, bring the bag back. It’s important. Really important. I can show you what I’ve found. Then you’ll have to believe me.’
‘Listen, Leonard said to tell you not to answer any police questions,’ says Luke, clearly trying to change the subject. ‘I think he wants to speak to you first. What happened? Why were you driving like a lunatic? Didn’t you see them?’
I let out an incredulous huff. ‘Of course I didn’t see them. Not at first. What a stupid question.’
‘Why so fast?’
‘I was scared.’
‘Of?’
‘Martha. Alice. Whatever the fuck you want to call her. I was scared what she would do.’
The door opening brings a halt to our conversation and the nurse comes in. ‘I thought I heard voices,’ she says. ‘How are you?’ She comes over and unhooks the blood-pressure sleeve from somewhere behind the head of my bed. ‘I’ll do some checks while I’m here.’
‘I’ll go down to Hannah,’ says Luke, getting up. ‘I don’t want her to wake up and find herself all alone. I stayed with her until she went to sleep last night.’
‘Okay.’ I can’t begrudge him that. Hannah’s needs are greater than mine. ‘Tell her I love her,’ I say. ‘Maybe they’ll let me come and see her.’
‘Not the state you’re in,’ says Luke, harshly, and then his face softens. ‘We’ll see what the doctors say once they’ve done their rounds in the morning. They’re talking about letting her go home, if everything’s okay. I’m not sure about you, though.’ He looks up at the nurse.
